


A Failed Seduction

by Erisah_Mae



Category: Original Work
Genre: Academics, Attempted Seduction, Bisexuality, Espionage, Other, Spies, Unrequited Lust, gender nonspecific character, post grad, renewable energy, tumblr promptfill, university campus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 05:13:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8877349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erisah_Mae/pseuds/Erisah_Mae
Summary: This is supposed to be a routine seduction mission. Rowan has never had this problem before. Based on a tumblr prompt.





	1. Chapter 1

_Based on[this tumblr post.](http://beka-tiddalik.tumblr.com/post/154585417250/tygermama-bead-bead-bendingsignpost)_

........................................................................

 

 

The job was supposed to be simple.

Infiltrate the party, seduce the target, steal the data, leave.

The last few times I had done something similar, everything had gone off without a hitch. Seduction missions were always my favourite, because they were the kind where everyone could win, and the chances of me getting shot or stabbed (again) were relatively minimal. I’d give the target a memorable night, and they would give me the opportunity to appropriate the intelligence I was after. A fair exchange, if you asked me. Hell, I prided myself on the fact that when one of my marks figured out that he’d been had, he actually claimed that it had all been completely worth it just for the memories.

My target for tonight was a scientist. Dr Ariel Blackman, current holder of several patents that my employers were _very_ interested in. They had made an above-board _very_ generous offer to buy her out, but Dr Blackman had thus far flatly refused to part with them. Something about ethical concerns and losing control of the impact of her creations.

Blah blah blah. I wasn’t paid to care about such things. Word had come down from above that my team needed to acquire a copy of Dr Blackman’s research, and when Ellie had tried to hack into the Doc’s home computer and the university servers, it turned out that she was paranoid enough to keep everything of importance on an offline server, something that Ellie had found out by reading the Doc’s emails.

Ellie was irritated by this, but I was pleasantly surprised. On the one hand, it was always a lot more satisfying challenge to interact with someone with a little healthy paranoia. On the other hand, a chance to pretend to be James Bond was what had drawn me into the spy business in the first place. Doing things the old-fashioned way might be riskier, but it was also a lot more _fun_.

Deciding on the right way to approach Dr Blackman was easy enough – academics always loved it when people were genuinely interested in their work. I read a few of Blackman’s more innocuous papers for background, and picked the brains of Takeshi, my handler, until I had some at least credible-sounding questions for her. And rather than try and corner Dr Blackman on campus where she spent most of her time, I chose to approach her in a more socially lubricated setting. People rarely responded well to being hit on at work, after all.

Specifically, an academic conference that was conveniently being held in the city where Dr Blackman lived. Ellie checked the programme, and it turned out that Dr Blackman was one of the keynote speakers.

Perfect.

Getting into the conference was simple. Takeshi just bought me a ticket under a false identity. This time I was supposedly a mature age undergraduate student from a large institution a few hours’ drive away. (It had to be a large institution, because a smaller one might have me running into one of my alleged lecturers, who might think it odd that they didn’t recognise me if they were used to a class of less than forty.)

I picked my lanyard up at the door, and spent the next two days pretending to be intensely interested in the subject matter. It actually wasn’t that hard. Most of the science that was being talked about involved cutting edge tech that could do all kinds of cool things. I particularly enjoyed the presentation about fabrics that gathered kinetic energy that could be used to power small devices – I could think of at least five uses for that tech that the developers probably would never have contemplated, and only one of them involved tasing a target.

During all this, I made sure to pass by Dr Blackman a few times “coincidentally” and to sit somewhere conspicuous during the lecture she gave. It was actually pretty interesting stuff, actually. Most of the physics and chemistry went over my head, but I didn’t have to be a scientist to grasp the potential implications that creating a solar cell that used UV rays rather than visual spectrum light to charge itself would have, when she explained that her cells actually worked _better_ on cloudy days.

Yeah, I could see why my bosses wanted to have a look at that.

On the third day of the conference, there was a networking event in the evening. Open bar. Cocktails. A crowd of academics letting their collective hair down.

The perfect opportunity.

I turned up fashionably late, (late enough to skip the more sober schmoozing and the speeches) in my usual black and white ensemble I liked for this sort of job. Formal, but more importantly, form-fitting. My body was my weapon, and it was just good sense to take care of one’s weapons. I could feel appraising eyes on me appreciating the effects of my dedication to exercise and healthy living as I crossed the room to approach the bar.

Considering the sedentary nature of most of these people’s jobs, I was unsurprised that only a few in the room could be considered my competition in the seduction game I was about to play.

I quietly ordered a lemon lime and bitters in a short glass, (no way would I be unprofessional enough to deliberately lower my performance levels on a job) and surveyed the room.

Takeshi murmured in my earpiece that Dr Blackman was playing wallflower, sitting in a quiet corner and watching the crowd. I scanned across the room, and spotted her for myself, and nearly choked on my drink when I saw the dress she was wearing. It had probably fit her a little better a few years ago, before stress eating had caught up with her. The colour suited her well though, and the slightly too-tight fit emphasized what some would consider to be overgenerous curves. Still, with her deep brown eyes, her luscious lips and that soft, soft looking skin…

Oh I was going to _enjoy_ this job.

She looked uncomfortable. I thought I’d go over there and convince her to slip into something a little more… casual. Like bed.

I sauntered over to Dr Blackman’s table.

“Is this seat taken?” I asked, indicating the chair beside her.

“No. Knock yourself out,” she replied.

She blinked when I proceeded to sit down in it.

“Oh! I um, I thought you meant you wanted to take it back to your table,” she explained.

I smiled. “Now why would I do a thing like that when I wanted to talk to you?” I responded.

Dr Blackman’s eyebrows raised. “You wanted to talk to me? What about?”

I started the conversation lightly. I asked her a few questions about the papers I’d read, and about her speech earlier that day. She was mostly happy enough to answer my more superficial questions, and was happy enough to rattle off what were clearly well-practised answers. I knew Dr Blackman lectured, so perhaps she was used to a similar line of questions from her students.

When I started to carefully veer the conversation into slightly more personal regions though, she started to get… a little less forthcoming. That was okay. Nothing I hadn’t run into before. If worst came to worst, I might have to draw this out across a few meetings before she trusted me enough to let me into her house. I had a nice private hotel room with some state of the art recording equipment hidden in the television (audio only, there was no need to be crass) all set up if I couldn’t immediately convince her to invite me back to her place.

So I backed off a little on the questions, and instead dialled my flirting up a little.

She seemed receptive enough to it. (I was similar enough to types of people that we knew she had dated in the past that we were unworried that I’d appeal to her tastes). I snagged her a refill of her red wine from a waiter passing with a tray, and she loosened up a notch. I even managed to get a laugh out of her once or twice.

There was something oddly restrained about her though. I could tell she was attracted to me – her open body language was quite telling, and I could see the way her pupils dilated when I smiled at her, turning those gorgeous dark eyes darker with interest. I could tell that Takeshi agreed, as he occasionally sent me updates on how we looked from his vantage point on the other side of the room.

When he wasn’t groaning at the occasional clichéd line I used, that is. As I had told him time and again, clichés were clichés because they _worked_. The closer to a sappy romance script I could weave the conversation, the better. After all, what person didn’t want to believe that a stunning stranger would want to sweep them off their feet?

I muttered as much in response to Takeshi when Dr Blackman, or Ariel, as I had been calling her for the past half hour, left to go to the bathroom.

Takeshi responded that I was having a little too much fun on this job, and asked me if I needed him to book me an ego deflation, because surely the three of us (me, my ego, and the target) would have trouble fitting into bed together.

I shot him a discreet rude handsign in response.

Ariel shortly returned, and our conversation continued swimmingly. She was definitely into me, and no, it was not just the ego talking. I was already beginning to eagerly anticipate the next step.

But when I suggested we ditch the party for some coffee, it was like I had suddenly cut the wrong wire when detonating a bomb.

“Oh,” she smiled, but the expression didn’t reach her eyes. “No, that won’t be necessary.”

I was caught on the back foot a little, but I immediately switched tactics.

“Oh I’m sorry! Was I coming on too strong?” I asked, leaning back out of her space and curling in on myself, using my very real embarrassment at having apparently badly misread the situation (Takeshi was _never_ going to let me live this down if I screwed up at this point, his snickers in my earpiece told me anything) to make my reaction look more authentic.

Ariel laughed, but the tone this time was bitter.

“You can let go of the act now. Just tell me what you want, before we both embarrass ourselves.”

“‘Act?’” The offense in my tone was entirely real, albeit more out of professional pride than being called a liar. My ‘act’ as she called it was usually more than enough whether I was on the clock or letting off steam on my own time. “What do you mean?” I demanded.

Ariel sighed gustily. “Look, I’ve had quite a bit of fun tonight, playing pretend, but we both know that people like you don’t approach people like me,” she waved her hand vaguely at herself, “unless you want something. So just spit it out. I might have suspended disbelief that you just wanted someone to talk to at this dull party, but what, _you_ want to sleep with _me_?” she snorted softly. “I’m flattered they sent someone so gorgeous, but if I slept with you when I know you’re just doing a job, it’d feel a little too close to indulging in prostitution for my tastes. No offense intended to sex workers, it’s just that I prefer to be certain that my partners are actually into _me_ rather than my wallet, or whatever it is you were planning on rifling through after we were done.”

A normal, innocent person would be shocked at this little speech. Frankly _I_ was shocked at this little speech, but it was only because I was playing the role of a normal person that I allowed Ariel to see it. I spluttered a little, trying to buy the time to think of something that might make tonight less of a bust.

Takeshi cackling in my ear was _not helping_.

“B-but I _wanted_ to sleep with you!” was what I blurted out. Have you ever had words leave your mouth that you just _instantly_ regretted?

Takeshi’s amusement increased in decibel level, and Ariel just folded her arms, the movement almost enough to make it look as though her boobs were about to pop out of that too-tight dress.

Oh come on, that was just _unfair_.

She shook her head, completely oblivious.

“Sure you did,” she scoffed. “Just so you could boast back to your employer that you managed to bag me, _and_ my work. Look, how about we save you the trouble of having to fake interest in me anymore, and I’ll cut to the chase – even if you managed to get access to my house, you wouldn’t find what you want. I don’t keep any of my work where I might have to invite people.”

Which was helpful information, since it narrowed down the possible places the data _could_ be stored, but that was quickly moving down my priority list.

This was the first time I had been made because someone had a _low self-esteem_ of all things.

It bothered me even more than it would otherwise, because even though Ariel had arrived at the right conclusion, she had done so using entirely inaccurate data.

Okay, new strategy.

I loosened my body language, and sighed a little dejectedly. “Wow, has anyone ever told you that you’re a bit paranoid?”

Ariel’s smirk was bitter. “Funny, the last time someone called me that, it was my ex.”

I bit my lip. “Are they the one who told you that you weren’t attractive?” I took a half-step closer. “Because they were either a liar, or an idiot.”

Ariel snorted. “Oh, Jo was both of those things. Both for cheating on me, and for thinking that I wouldn’t find out.” She turned to look out the window. “But that doesn’t mean I’m blind to what I look like in the mirror. Funnily enough, earning a PhD doesn’t mean that I’m a complete twit in all other arenas.”

(I was going to find whoever had written up Ariel’s psych profile in the briefing and there would be _words_. This all would have been invaluable information to have _before_ I walked into this.)

I protested that she was wrong, but I knew it was too late. Ariel had already made up her mind about me.

I was starting to consider a tactical retreat, so that I could regroup and try again later, but Ariel beat me to it.

“Look, it’s not you, it’s me,” she said brusquely. “If you’ll excuse me.”

And just like that, she left.

I snagged a glass of wine from the tray of a passing waiter, and basically dropped back into my chair.

“Well shit,” was Takeshi’s commentary.

“Not. Helpful.” I gritted out from behind my glass.

Now what was I supposed to do?

On a professional level, that had been frankly mortifying.

I had _never_ had a seduction backfire on me that badly before. From Takeshi’s tone, he had moved past his initial amusement and well into rueful acknowledgement that the deck had been stacked against me from the beginning. Which was mildly gratifying, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to rib me about this for _months_.

The bit that really got to me though, was that in all honesty, I had actually found her attractive. I had even been looking forward to showing Ariel a good time. It would have been both of our pleasures. I would have made sure of it.

I snagged another glass of wine from a passing waiter. More than one person would have noticed that little scene, and I wanted them to report back that I had been dejected at Ariel’s brushoff. I _was_ dejected.

It was a complete and utter crime that whatever poison Ariel’s ex had dripped in her ear had been enough to make her this insecure.

Screw the job. I was officially offended on Ariel’s behalf.

My mobile phone buzzed in my pocket, and I accepted the call.

“Rowan, forget it, let it go,” said Takeshi. “We’ll try a different angle.”

“Hell no,” I replied. I ignored Takeshi’s groan. “I just need more time.”

It was an utter _crime_ that an intelligent, sexy woman of Ariel’s calibre should have so low an opinion of herself. Sure, she was a little overweight, and her hair was perhaps a little frizzy, but to call her unattractive was lies and slander. I could make a fair guess at what this Jo person must have said to her, and the long and the short of it must have been an attempt to justify the cheating.

What an asshole.

Ariel believed that she was not appealing enough to draw in someone like me?

It would be no hardship at all to take on the mission to convince her otherwise.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple of people asked me if there was more, well... now you get to see Ariel's side of things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ariel's Version

 

A beautiful stranger suddenly appearing at the convention was unusual enough that my long time colleague, Dr Adrian Young had drawn my attention to this happenstance almost immediately.

“Definitely haven’t seen _that one_ doing the rounds before,” was her comment to me, licking her lips and sending a suggestive sidelong glance towards the attractive newcomer.

I had to admit, Dri had a point. It wasn’t so much that there was always the same people who came to these events, but there was a certain schema that one could usually apply. Grad students with dark circles under their eyes and hands shaky from too much caffeine. PhDs who aggressively networked, wearing their very best (only) suits to give their presentations. Career academics like me, who wore suits that had been new ten years ago, that were brought out at every conference like this. The one thing that all of these groups had in common was that with a few cyclist or gym-nut exceptions, the common traits were skin that had not seen enough sun and bodies that had not seen enough exercise due to the sedentary nature of our jobs.

The gorgeous newcomer in the slightly worn olive peacoat though…

Watching using the reflection in the window, I wondered if the newcomer was an experienced dancer. Newcomer was certainly in good enough shape to be either a professional or a dedicated amateur. It would explain the grace, as though possessing awareness of the placement of every muscle, perfectly poised.

The newcomer stepped a little closer then, and I revised my assessment. No. Not a dancer. A martial artist. I recognised that stance from when a friend of mine tried to teach me the fundamentals of ninjutsu so I would be safer walking home at night. I never took well to it – violence has never been something I was fond of – but Lori’s lessons must have sunk in better than either of us thought for me to recognise that unconsciously held stance.

I probably would have put the beautiful stranger from my mind, if it wasn’t for the fact that in every talk I went to, there would be the same olive peacoat, sitting in the audience.

It became almost a game, after a while. Adrian and I would compete to see who could spot the newcomer first.

It took me a while though to figure out that the beautiful stranger was observing me right back.

At first I thought it might just that the game Adrian and I were playing had been noticed. That would have made sense.

But then I realised that only I held the newcomer’s attention. Adrian even went up and spoke to the beautiful stranger once, and it was like she was made of mist, for all the attention she was paid.

I tried to convince myself that I was imagining things, but it became harder to ignore when I felt those eyes on me at my talk. It wasn’t that the newcomer hadn’t listened to the other speakers, it was just… the manner of listening. I felt like my every word was being absorbed, my every twitch assessed.

It was frankly more than a little unnerving.

What on earth could interest someone like that in someone like me?

The cocktail party on the third day of the conference quickly devolved, as they often did. I took the opportunity to talk to a few people I hadn’t seen in a while, and complimented a particular up and comer’s work, taking my opportunity before they jetted back to South Korea.

Dri had tapped out early. Not unexpected. She had a nine year old son at home, and she took as many chances to spend quality time with Riley as possible.

So there I was, wearing a dress that I had bought before my relationship with Jo started to fall apart.

I hadn’t really had the chance to wear it much before, so it wasn’t tainted with memories of good times that were lies, or bad times where my ability to suspend my disbelief in the fact that Jo just wasn’t invested in our relationship anymore failed me.

Unfortunately, living on Timtams until one’s heart healed was not ideal for one’s figure.

Which meant that the dress was about a size and a half too small, and cut in the way that Jo had appreciated. I had forgotten how deep the neckline was.

It hadn’t seemed so tight when I tried it on a few hours ago, but I had made the mistake of bending over shortly before, and the dress’s seams had creaked somewhat alarmingly.

Damn.

I had managed to lose a bit of the misery weight I had packed on, but evidently not enough for this dress.

I found a quiet table to sit down at, and was just starting to contemplate going home, and changing into something I could actually _breathe_ in, when the beautiful stranger, who had been conspicuously absent up until this point, suddenly made an entry.

Dressed sharply in black and white, eyes cold and smile bright, with that strong profile it was like looking at a model for some classical painting. Probably titled ‘Temptation’ or somesuch, because that’s what the stranger embodied.

Inexplicably, the entry ended with this vision walking up to _me._

And this beautiful stranger, who had stared at me so much during the conference, apparently just wanted to talk. To me.

I’ll admit it, I indulged myself a little. There was no way anything was going to happen but, a woman could dream, couldn’t she?

And the stranger, or “Sage” as I was told, had a convincing act. Asking me questions about my work, and sounding genuinely interested. I was flattered to receive this sort of attention. Of course I was.

Then Sage turned the conversation around to me and my personal life, and seemed genuinely interested in the answers.

I’ve never enjoyed talking about myself much. Mostly because I feel like I’m boring people. I don’t live a particularly fascinating life from the outside, I know. I mean, I’m passionate about my work, and I wouldn’t change a thing, but to someone who isn’t read into everything that I’m trying to do, I can see why they would find it all mind-numbingly dull.

(I mean, that was what my sister always said the few times I had tried to explain what I actually did for a living. If it hadn’t been for the fact that the vast majority of people seemed to agree with her view, by the way their eyes glazed over when I got excited and started explaining something about the implications of my work.

“I mean, I’m glad you’re all excited about it Sis, but I don’t really get it, you know?” She’d said to me once on the phone, the sounds of her kids playing some violently enjoyable-sounding game in the background almost drowning out her words. “Anyway, so when are you and Jo going to settle down, huh? Neither of you are getting any younger.”

‘Younger’ had of course turned out to be what Jo was really after. Younger and more naïve, from what I could tell. Apparently she had had no idea that Jo was my significant other of four years. She’d been so devastated that any inclination that I might have had to be jealous of her had drained out of me, like pus from a sore.)

So I’ll be honest. I found it odd, but sweet that Sage apparently wanted to take the trouble to get to know me. Mildly bewildering, but nice nonetheless. I didn’t think much of the personal questions at first – I thought perhaps Sage was trying (successfully, mind,) to butter me up, to better pick my brain.

But then Sage started actually overtly flirting with me.

Using the absolute cheesiest lines!

It was almost funnier than flattering at that point. I mean, it was like Sage had swallowed the kind of bad romance novel that Dri liked to read aloud from when it was just the two of us, because she liked startling laughs or blushes out of me. Really, some of the things Sage said to me! “Of all the beautiful curves that I saw in your presentation, your smile is my favourite.” So cheesy!

I knew it was horseshit, but it was hard not to enjoy the silly game all the same. I knew it couldn’t possibly be serious, so I indulged myself with this game of pretend. There was no way that Sage, graceful Sage with the cold, cold eyes and the rich husky voice could possibly be interested in a dumpy nerd like me.

I noted that Sage was plying me with wine, whilst nursing the one brownish drink. I was having too much fun to be bothered – I knew my limits, and ensured that I stayed within them, and considering that Sage was acquiring the wine from the trays of the various waiters threading their way through the crowd, I knew there hadn’t been a chance to slip anything extra into the contents.

(Fool me once, shame on that guy. No one was ever going to get the opportunity to fool me twice.)

It was as disconcerting as it was pleasant to be love-bombed like a potential member for some cult. Sage’s biggest mistake was being _too_ nice to me. It reminded me that there was a salespitch behind that toothpaste ad smile. Part of me was waiting for the moment when the man behind the curtain was revealed.

Even with my burgeoning paranoia, I was having more fun that I’d had at one of these networking events in ages. So I let Sage keep talking. I let Sage keep telling me pretty lies.

But then Sage just had to ruin it by taking the game a little too far.

Because when Sage started angling to come back to my place, specifically, then I was able to put the pieces together.

It was almost a relief, ironically. As fun as the game had been, the world now made sense again.

“Oh,” I told them, pasting a smile on my face. “No, that won’t be necessary.”

Sage looked gobsmacked.

“Oh I’m sorry! Was I coming on too strong?” Sage did an excellent impression of someone who was dying of embarrassment, but I could see that regardless of what the shoulders and head angles were saying, the cold reptilian calculation never left Sage’s eyes.

I laughed. How ridiculous. Did Sage think I was some kind of idiot?

“You can let go of the act now. Just tell me what you want, before we both embarrass ourselves.”

“‘Act?’ What do you mean?” Sage sounded as though I had insulted three generations of their family, and then called them unprofessional to boot.

Ah, I realised. Sage really did think that I was an idiot. Well.

I decided to be blunt. I told Sage exactly what I thought of this little farce.

Sage practically gaped at me, and I could tell that I’d actually taken the gorgeous stranger aback.

“B-but I wanted to sleep with you!” Sage spluttered.

Really? That was the best that they could manage?

I folded my arms, trying to ignore how it made Sage immediately focus in on my cleavage.

“Sure you did. Just so you could boast back to your employer that you managed to bag me, and my work,” I said, giving the blurted out protest all the attention it deserved – none. It was a pretty lie, from a pretty mouth. I refused to be taken in, but I decided to throw Sage a bone. I wouldn’t give in, but Sage was just working. It was nothing personal, and up until now, I’d had fun.

“Look, how about we save you the trouble of having to fake interest in me anymore, and I’ll cut to the chase – even if you managed to get access to my house, you wouldn’t find what you want. I don’t keep any of my work where I might have to invite people,” I explained.

Sage however, stuck stubbornly to the act. It was a good one, and I might have believed it, if it wasn’t so inherently ridiculous.

Sage sighed. “Wow, has anyone ever told you that you’re a bit paranoid?”

The last person to call me so had been Jo. I said as much. Sage didn’t seem happy to be compared to my shitty ex. Too bad.

“You’re wrong, you know,” Sage insisted. “Jo was wrong. You’re a captivating woman, Ariel Blackman, and it would be my privilege to show you how.”

Yeah right. Sage of the dreamy eyelashes and the athletically muscled physique wanted to take _me_ to bed?

A few glasses of wine weren’t nearly enough to impede my judgement enough to believe _that_.

“Look, it’s not you, it’s me,” I said, cutting whatever horseshit that Sage was going to resort to next. I was more than tired of the game, the party wasn’t going to be fun anymore, and I wanted to go home. “If you’ll excuse me.”

I left, and I felt a thrill of triumph.

At least this time, I was leaving with my dignity.

I assumed that that would be the end of it. I assumed that after that, Sage would leave me alone, and whoever it was employing them would find someone else to try and insinuate themselves into my life.

Sage had not been the first, and I had assumed that there would be others soon to follow. I didn’t regret not signing that contract. Although never having to worry about future grant money had been nice, the risk that my energy technology would have been sat upon and not put into production had been far too great. I wanted a world without fossil fuels burning. Letting some shady organisation take control of my patents while I retired to a tropical island would have only been nice until the tropical island sank under the rising seas.

…

Two days later, Dri came to talk to me, her eyes practically sparkling with glee.

“Ariel, you aren’t going to _believe_ who has started working at the coffee shop on campus.”

She pulled her phone out of her pocket, and quickly scrabbled at her screen before turning it to show me.

An uneasy feeling settled into the pit of my stomach, but then I discerned the face of the person wearing the Bean Mover uniform, and felt immediate relief. It was Dri’s brother, Lachlan.

Who did you think it was going to be? I chided myself, as Dri exulted at the fact she was going to get to torment her baby brother every day now.

I shook my head at both myself and Dri’s antics, and headed to the class I was supposed to be lecturing in seven minutes.

It was a 1001 class, so I knew that probably about a third would be paying attention, some would be pretending to not be surfing the web on their laptops, and the rest would be surreptitiously texting, doodling, or catching a nap.

No matter. They would either do the reading/listen to the recording of this lecture on their own time, or they would learn the hard way that I was not about to handhold any slackers.

(The few who came to me to actually ask for help in understanding core concepts, or who asked questions, or for further reading direction, those people I would help unreservedly. They were the ones that made this whole teaching thing worthwhile, even if it hadn’t been a condition of my tenure. The rest were just wasting their time and contributing to my salary. Their (parents’) money. Their choice.)

I strode into the room, and dumped my heavy satchel on the desk by the podium. Pulling out my thumb-drive, I booted up the computer, stuck the thumbdrive in and then pulled up my slides.

I turned to face my students, and opened my mouth to deliver the first words of the lecture I had prepared today.

And there, sitting dead centre three rows back, was Sage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you paying attention, any name changes are a deliberate plot device and not a mistake on the part of the writer.

**Author's Note:**

> Had a bit too much fun with this one. Not sure what genre I'd call this. Cringe fluff? Eh. Entertaining experiment either way.


End file.
